


Sugar Bear

by zaphodsgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Isolation, M/M, Meet-Cute, Strangers to Lovers, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28558005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl/pseuds/zaphodsgirl
Summary: Like everyone else, Cas has been working at home for months during the pandemic, and realizes that his addiction to online shopping has gotten out of control. A few weeks after swearing off Amazon cold turkey, he gets an unexpected surprise on his designated delivery day.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 50
Kudos: 193
Collections: Dean/Cas Tropefest 2021 Mid-Winter 5k





	Sugar Bear

**Author's Note:**

> Glad to see Tropefest come back briefly for another mini round, which is much needed!  
> Thanks to violethaze for the beta assistance.

It's nothing he would ever say to anyone out loud, but Cas doesn't actually mind having to quarantine at home. If not for the low-level thrum of terror in his veins every time he looks at the virus statistics, he finds it preferable to keep to himself than have to endure awkward everyday interactions with his coworkers, or anyone else for that matter. He's far more productive at his small kitchen table than he ever was in his office, without the constant distraction of people wandering in and out, asking him questions as a pretense to avoid doing their own tasks. It's much harder to goof off in Teams when your boss is ever present in the background, and Cas is able to focus and do what needs to be done before the work day is technically even over. He hasn't put in overtime once since the work from home situation began, which would be a great argument to allow work from home to continue -- if he'd ever gotten paid for all that extra time in the first place.

(He makes note of these observations anyway, so that when things start going back to normal, he can plead his case in a well constructed PowerPoint presentation.)

He doesn't particularly crave solitude, but he doesn't mind it as much as most people. It's just that most human interactions make him feel awkward, and he spends so much time trying to prepare beforehand that he worries himself into a near frenzy by the time any event takes place, and as a result is completely exhausted by the end of it. Given the choice between going to a party or staying home with a mug of tea and a book, well. Tea is going to win every time. It used to aggravate Meg constantly when she'd show up at his dorm to find him in pajama pants on a Friday night, contacts out and glasses on, index finger marking his place in whatever book he was loosely cradling in his hand when he opened the door.

"Isolation is a form of self-harm, Clarence," she'd said senior year, when her psych major was making its presence known so much that he was beginning to feel like the third wheel in their friendship. "Emotional cutting for people who don't like sharp objects." There was worry beneath the sarcastic lilt of her voice, and he could never explain well enough to put her at ease. He still can't, but time and physical distance makes it more difficult for her to nag him about it constantly, and the added value of the current pandemic is that he doesn't have to justify his lifestyle even to her. 

In the beginning he'd made an effort to get up and dress for work everyday as though he were going into the office, forgoing only his suit jacket as he sat down to his laptop. Initially there had been a constant flurry of Zoom meetings and calls as everyone tried to adjust to the new normal; he was wary of being caught off guard, of looking less than professional. Still, it only took a week for him to lose the tie, and soon after that he stopped fastening the top button of his crisply ironed shirt, and then the one below that was left unfastened as well. He started cuffing his shirt sleeves before even leaving the bedroom, then stopped bothering to tuck the shirt in altogether. Finally he got up early one Monday morning and looked long and hard at the line of meticulously cared for suits in his bedroom closet, the stiff-collared shirts, the rack of blue ties in varying shades and patterns. Eight years of accumulated wardrobe, not much different from the first bunch of suits he'd purchased at the Men's Wearhouse after getting his first job out of college. It had taken him a single afternoon to spend what took four years of overnights at the Gas-n-Sip to earn, money carefully put away for just this investment, for the future person he planned to be. He'd cringed at the price tag even though he knew it was necessary, and never imagined that in less than ten years time he would find himself staring into his closet for twenty minutes before making the command decision to stay in his pajamas for the work day. 

He’d never imagined, as he walked out of the store years ago with a bag full of dress shirts and ties and a ticket to pick up his altered suits later, that eventually they’d just be sitting in his closet while he worked from home in a pair of fuzzy socks and a worn out set of cat pajamas. Now the only concession he makes to business attire is during the afternoon conference call every Thursday when he changes into a dress shirt and tie for twenty minutes, then hangs them back up to wear again the next week. In six months not a single person has noticed that it's the exact same shirt and tie, even though the collar has lost its starched look from being taken on and off the hanger so many times, and the tie never changes. Clearly everyone else on the call each week is far too interested in how their own image presents in the bottom corner of the screen to take any notice of his. Zach Adler attends every call in a full three piece suit, clearly visible the three or four times he has to get up from his desk, since he never seems to be fully prepared. Cas is almost positive he even has dress shoes on, if the clicking on the hardwood floor as he wanders around his home office looking for whatever report he's nattering on about is any indication. Cas smiles into his coffee mug every time he glances down at his own pajama bottoms, well out of frame below his untucked dress shirt, while wearing one of the numerous pairs of novelty slippers that Gabe gives him for Christmas every year as a joke. 

(The joke is actually on Gabe, since the slippers are always insanely cozy and he loves them despite how much room they take up in the closet.)

The idle time Cas has between finishing work and being able to log off is both a blessing and a curse: he’s definitely less stressed out about work than he’s ever been, but more anxious about the state of the world in general. He spends his downtime doom scrolling through various news feeds, researching different topics, or looking into causes to donate money to. That, at least, he can still do. He also visits Amazon a lot, even while loathing himself a little each time. It’s just too easy to get lost in the various departments, browsing products he didn’t even know existed, and some that he finds he actually needs. It’s not his fault if Buzzfeed has extremely helpful articles all the time about cool products, sprinkled in among the extraordinarily strange quizzes that tell him he’s actually Belle from Beauty and the Beast based on what kinds of dessert he’s chosen.

As a result, Cas has a delivery at his door every Thursday, his designated Prime delivery day. It hasn’t stopped the jolt of delight he gets every time the knock comes, the driver already back in his truck by the time Cas opens the door to retrieve his package from the stoop of his first floor condo. He’ll dutifully put it on the coffee table each time, going back to sit at his laptop to finish the work day before he’ll indulge in his new purchases. It’s become routine like so many other things, but it’s one that he enjoys immensely. Maybe it's because of his ascetic upbringing that he finds so much pleasure in treating himself to things, even if it’s just a Scrub Daddy sponge for the kitchen. 

It's six months into quarantine, three months since his shopping started in earnest, when Cas realizes he might be out of control. 

The straw that breaks the camel's back is neither a straw -- like silicone, which he purchased months ago in an effort to be more eco-conscious -- nor a camel, which is probably logistically impossible to deliver domestically. No, the sign of his demise is a small clay bear three inches high, selected off a list of "Must Haves for the Kitchen You Never Knew You Needed", an absolute staple for keeping brown sugar soft and pliable. He smiles that evening as he pulls it from the box, turning it over in his hands before releasing it from the plastic packaging, fingers brushing over the smooth clay surface. It's not until he walks into the kitchen and opens the pantry that he realizes his mistake: he has no brown sugar.

He's not simply _out_ of brown sugar, in the way you realize too late and have to begrudgingly put it on the list for the next grocery trip. _That's not the problem_ , Castiel realizes as he stands with one hand on the door of the tall cupboard, clutching the little bear in his other fist. It's that he's never actually _owned_ brown sugar, because he doesn't bake. He barely even cooks, as evidenced by the fact that he's currently waiting on Indian food to be delivered, and has already decided that tomorrow night will be pizza. He only owns regular sugar because it's necessary for coffee, and that's the extent of pantry staples in his kitchen. Even the simplest baking requires a dexterity with foodstuffs that Cas simply does not possess, and gave up trying to develop long ago. He tries to think back to the last time he actually saw brown sugar in a cupboard in his own home, and that would be when he and Gabe shared an apartment off-campus. Ten years ago.

"What am I doing?" he mutters to the little clay bear in his fist. It looks up at him without judgement or reservation, and he considers tossing it into the trash. It's highly unlikely that it will ever be used for its intended purpose, chilling out in a tightly sealed container of muscovado on a dark shelf, keeping it fresh and ready for a future baking day. This little piece of clay is destined to be out of work forever, unless something tragic happens that forces him to live with Gabe again, and Cas is pretty certain there isn't a kitchen utensil in existence that his brother doesn't already own. Not only that, but he's pretty sure he would rather become a wandering nomad than be forced to cohabit with his brother's atrocious taste in music ever again. No one should listen to that much Creed. 

Cas sighs, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the bear's adorable russet red face, then props him up against the backsplash over by the coffee maker. 

"You can hang out there and remind me every morning to _not_ buy anything else on Amazon," he instructs, brandishing a finger in its direction. If the bear has any opinion about being drafted into a service it wasn't designed for, it keeps it to itself. 

It's difficult to immediately stop doing something that has so quickly become part of his daily routine, so it takes a couple of days before Cas catches himself mindlessly adding things to his online shopping cart. He stares guiltily towards the kitchen at his new coffeepot mascot, imagining the little bear shaking its head in admonishment. His cursor hovers over the button for checkout while he bites his lip, considering as he reviews the items and realizes that not a single one is a necessity, despite the fact that the last Buzzfeed list he'd combed through touted itself as "32 Helpful Products That Will Solve All Your Bathroom-Related Problems". Does he really _need_ mouthwash tablets and a toilet paper holder that looks like a sheep when it's full? If things don't change, he'll probably never leave the house again, so fresh breath is probably not a huge priority. Toilet paper can stay under the sink, it doesn't need to be cleverly displayed even if he currently owns a ridiculous amount of it, just in case. 

The sheep _is_ really cute though. He makes an indecisive noise, then moves all the products to "save for later" and closes out of the window with a firm click of the mouse. _Take that, consumerism._ He can do this. Project "Don't Buy Household Necessities You Don't Actually Need Because You are Bored" is going to be difficult, but Cas is determined to succeed. 

Still, when that Thursday comes and goes with no knock on the door announcing a package arrival, he feels a little bit empty. His eyes keep drifting to the front door as Zachariah drones interminably on, then shift again to the little bear by the coffeepot, standing like a stout soldier. 

The second week is a little bit easier, and he manages to look at a bunch of things without adding them to his cart for purchase. If he adds them to his wishlist instead, well, that's just between him and his mouse. It's possible he may have supplanted his Amazon addiction with iTunes, but that's another matter entirely. Besides, _Sharp Objects_ is incredibly good, and who knows what other TV series lurk undiscovered?

By the time he reaches the one month mark, Cas is feeling ridiculously proud of himself, the way you do when you've shaken any bad habit for an extended period of time. In fact when Zachariah finally shuts up about the quarterly sales figures, he decides to reward himself by perusing his wishlist and choosing one item from it, as a treat. _It's not backsliding,_ he thinks, scrolling through what he realizes now is a frighteningly large list. _It's a reward for good behavior._

The sharp knock at the door is alarming both for its urgency and surprise, and Cas jerks towards the sound so forcibly that he knocks his wireless mouse onto the floor. 

"Ms. Novak?" Says a muffled voice before another pounding set of blows land on the other side of the door. "Ms. Novak, are you okay in there?"

_What?_

Cas stumbles as he gets up from the table, his foot narrowly avoiding the battery that apparently ejected itself from the mouse upon impact with the tile. He barely gets himself upright in his scramble to put on the mask he keeps hanging on the doorknob -- not because he gets regular visitors, but for the nights he gets takeout from the Chinese place that won't take payment information over the phone (totally worth it for the superior dumplings). 

It's not until he gets the mask in place and flings the door open, interrupting the third set of knocks, that he realizes he never changed after the virtual meeting. He can read six levels of surprise in the widened green eyes of the delivery man above his own mask, fist still poised in the air in the act of knocking, where it stays as the man takes three steps backward to put the appropriate amount of space between them.

"Uh," the stranger says eloquently before glancing at his own upraised fist, then lowering it to his side with a grimace. Cas squints at him. Usually he's the most awkward person in any scenario, so this is a nice change of pace. 

"Can I help you?" Cas asks with a hint of amusement in his voice, and watches the man swallow. He has a very nice throat. He has a nice _everything_ , actually, which is patently unfair given that he's wearing the uniform of an Amazon delivery driver. No one should look that good in a grey polo shirt. It fits very nicely around the biceps. 

"Sorry, sorry, I, uh," the man stammers, glancing up and down. Cas would like to believe he's being checked out, but the fact of the matter is that whatever this man expected to find, it was not a person wearing a dress shirt and tie paired with pajama pants and novelty slippers. "Is that _Boba Fett?_ " he finally says, gesturing helplessly to Cas's bottom half. 

"The pants are, but unfortunately I don't have matching slippers." For some reason, Cas has vaulted far beyond embarrassment at his situation now that it's far too late to do anything about it. He crosses his arms and leans casually against the doorframe, sticking one Kermited foot across the threshold. "These are at least the same color scheme, even if it seems odd to mix Muppets and Star Wars."

"Hey, Yoda was a Muppet. They are closely related."

"Not to mention _Pigs in Space_."

"I think that's more closely aligned to _Star Trek_." The mask obscures the smile that Cas is sure he's receiving, given that the man's eyes crinkle in delight, and he feels his own lips turn upwards in return. "I hope I'm not interrupting what seems to be a very important work pitch?" The inquisitive note tacked on to the end makes Cas laugh a little, and he shakes his head. 

"Meeting's over for today, thankfully. How can I help you?"

"Right! Right. I, uh, forgot what I was actually doing here." He clears his throat, looking sheepish. "It's just, well. You're fine, clearly. I mean, you seem very, very...fine." His voice trails off a bit, and he shakes his head. "I'm sorry, this was stupid. I was just worried."

"Worried about...Ms. Novak?"

"Ah, well, I guessed based on the name on your packages." He stares intently, and Cas is pretty sure the heat he feels is not from the late September sun. "Definitely guessed wrong."

"Well, I'm at a disadvantage, since you know my name, and there's nothing to indicate what yours is." He blatantly looks the man up and down now. He's fit without being overly muscled, the way you get when you have a job that keeps you physically active and you don't need to go to the gym. On second glance, the way the polo shirt stretches across his chest and shoulders is also quite admirable.

"Dean," the man says in a throaty whisper, and swallows again.

"Did you have a package for me, Dean?" Cas asks in a way that he hopes is as flirtatious as he feels, wondering how late he'll be up tonight fretting over this entire exchange, but deciding to lean into the obvious out-of-body experience he's currently having as he flirts with a delivery driver while wearing a pair of frog slippers.

"No, no, that's the problem, see. You used to get a delivery every Thursday, like clockwork, and then I noticed that you weren't anymore. So I thought maybe you were away, which, okay I was maybe a little judgey about, because who goes on vacation in a pandemic, but then a couple of weeks went by and there was nothing and so..." 

Cas takes pity and interrupts his babbling. "You were worried that I'd been buried in an avalanche of all the crap I've been buying for months?"

The man laughs lowly, rubbing the back of his neck as his ears pink in embarrassment. "Uh, something like that, yeah. Although to be fair, I thought maybe a sweet little old lady might be trapped all alone in there and that's obviously, uh, not the case." They stare at each other for a beat, and Cas bites the inside of his cheek, waiting. "Was my service...unsatisfactory?"

Now Cas is the one to swallow, wondering how to respond, and in a moment of utter honesty just blurts out the first thing he can think of. "I had an existential crisis over a sugar bear." 

Dean's eyes widen slightly, and then he just starts laughing. Cas can't remember the last time he actually heard the sound of real live human enjoyment, and it's not until this moment he realizes how much he's missed it.

"Listen, Mr. Novak..."

"Cas, please."

"Cas." He says it deliberately, as though tasting the flavor of it on his tongue. "I would really love to hear that story, but I need to get back to my route, unfortunately." He shuffles his feet like he's reluctant to go, hands in his pockets, which does some very nice things to the fit of his pants. "I'm glad you're okay." He starts to turn, and Cas speaks before he can help himself.

"You know, you could always text me the next time you're worried that I've fallen and I can't get up."

"I could," Dean drawls, turning back with his phone already in hand, and Cas finds himself grinning like a fool under his mask. "And I could always text you back once you give me your number, so you can entertain me on the rest of my route with that story."

"I can do that," Cas says, waiting for Dean to give him a nod before rattling off the numbers. Not long after he's done he hears his phone go off inside with a text alert, and Dean looks up to wink at him. 

"Can't wait, Cas." He whistles as he walks away, and Cas wishes he were wearing something more form fitting than cargo shorts, since the view from behind is as promising as the one from the front. Those are very, _very_ nice calves. 

Dean waves as he hops back into his truck, and Cas raises a hand in return before he closes the door, taking off his mask and glancing down at himself with a shake of his head. 

"Unbelievable." Years of getting all worked up over what he was wearing any time he went on a date, or tried to talk to a handsome stranger, and he gets a phone number while wearing an outfit so ridiculous he could not have contrived it on purpose. Even his tie is backwards, no doubt from his hurry to open the door. Dean must be pretty special, if he looked at this and wanted to know more. He shuffles back into the kitchen and retrieves the assorted pieces of mouse from the floor, forcing himself to reassemble it before picking up his phone and looking at the new text from an unknown number.

_I'm hoping sugar bear is not a euphemism for a hairy, well-to-do man that spoils you, because if that's where all your packages were coming from I'm going to be very disappointed._

He laughs out loud, unable to help himself, then glances over to the coffeepot. He thinks the bear might be smiling.

"Guess you're not completely unemployed," he tells it as he starts texting back. "Maybe you're a matchmaker."

And if the little bear feels smug about it by the following Christmas, when Dean puts it to its intended use after making several batches of cookies in his boyfriend's kitchen, it never admits it.


End file.
